Uncommon Criminals: Hale's Tale
by My Llama's Pen Name is Carl
Summary: W. W. Hale has a story to tell. This is Uncommon Criminals in Hale's POV. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

This story is Uncommon Criminals in the POV of W. W. Hale. I love this guy. I may be bias because he has a boat and abs but I still love him.

AN: This is my first Fanfiction ever. So, please review. Flames are accepted but be nice about it please. If enough people review and want me to continue I'll keep writing this story. I hope you enjoy.

This is dedicated to Amy, without whom I would never have discovered the joys of Fanfiction.

Random thing to do for today: Look up Finger Monkeys on Google Images. Your mind will be blown.

Disclaimer: I'm not Ally Carter and therefore do not own Heist Society, Uncommon Criminals or W. W. Hale *sob*. I do however own Hale's thoughts.

From his New York apartment the young man watched the snow fall to the crowded streets below. A frown was etched onto his face, a result of the phone conversation he had just had. As he looked down at the miniature world below him he picked up the phone once more. This time it was Marcus on the other end.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm going to need a ride this afternoon."

"Of course, sir. Where to?"

"JFK Airport. Goodbye Marcus."

"Yes, s-"

W. W. Hale wasn't usually as rude as he had just been to Marcus. Hanging up abruptly was something he normally saved for family members but something was leaving him on edge. Not something as such, but someone. She just had to not tell him where she was going every time. He could help. What if something had gone wrong? She was out there alone. In a KGB house of all places? Kat was going to be the death of him. It wasn't that Hale doubted Kat. In fact it was the opposite. He knew she was well able to do it alone, but it still worried him no end when she went off without at least one other person to be there to help in case something went wrong. It hurt that she didn't even tell him what she was doing. They were a team. Or so he had thought. Hale still couldn't wait to see her though. It had been too long.

As he walked down his hallway toward his bedroom he spared a glance at the painting on the wall. A light blue Monet hung on the wall, contrasting against the pastel yellow walls. It was his favourite, and one of the best fakes to have been made. It reminded him of Kat, like most things did these days. Hale pushed all thoughts from his mind as he flopped down onto his bed. Sleep took over almost immediately, but still not quite fast enough for thoughts of a certain thief to stay away.

AN: That's the end of chapter one. I'm sorry it's short but I'm trying to write the chapters in Hale's POV in sync with those chapters actually in the book and since not much happened in chapter one of Uncommon Criminals, there isn't much going on in here either. In theory that means there will be 42 chapters in total if I continue with this. Wow. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and please do review. Sorry if Hale's OOC. I'm new to this.

Isabella


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter two of Uncommon Criminals in the POV of W. W. Hale. **

**AN: Hey guys. I'd just like to say I suck. I'm sorry this took so long to update. This one is a lot longer than the last and they will continue to get longer (I hope). **

**I have so much going on right now it's not funny. Oh, and another thing? It's the school holidays. It's the holidays and I'm busy all the time because my teachers thought it would be fun to give me mountains of work for the holidays. Good on them. NOT. So, anyway I know that's not an excuse for how long it's taken to update but yeah. I really don't want to turn into one of those people on fanfiction I hate. You know the ones who don't update for what seems like years? I'm going to try to update every couple of days from now on. **

**Thank you to every one for reading! You make me very happy. **

**Extra special thank you to everyone who reviewed! Cookies for you. **

As he watched the planes land on the airstrip, Hale couldn't help but wonder what the customs agent was thinking about the teenage girl who had just arrived. Every one with half of a brain knew you didn't just pack your bags and go to Moscow for a recreational trip in February. It was just too cold. Hale was told he was immune to the cold, but New York winters were nothing compared to the ninth circle of hell that was Moscow. Hale sipped from his coffee cup, turned away from the window and walked towards the arrivals wing of the airport. He sat and waited as JFK airport buzzed with people.

W. W. Hale's face did not betray the excitement he felt when he saw a shorter-than-average teenage girl walked past him. She headed toward the exit, seemingly unaware of the boy following her. He could tell she was thinking about a heist. She was never this inattentive otherwise. As they stepped onto the escalator, Hale lifted the bag of her shoulder. Kat turned to look at him, her face a mask.

"You'd better not be trying to steal that," she said.

Hale shrugged nonchalantly and reached for her suitcase. "I wouldn't dare."

"Because I'm an excellent yeller." Hale loved their bickering chitchat. Not that he would ever admit it.

"And fighter. My cousin gave me this nail file . . . the thing's just like a switchblade." Hale nodded slowly. He couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at this statement. He knew Kat, and did not doubt that she indeed had a nail file that could harm him. Especially when she was the one holding it.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The pair stepped off of the escalator, and Hale was not oblivious to the attention he was getting from the women in the airport. He smirked to himself, continuing on in his suave ways. Hale walked so his cloaked arm was touching the girl next to him, then he remembered he was mad with her. He didn't bother to look at her when he said, "I would have sent the jet."

She looked up at him, "See, I'm trying to build up the miles." If Hale had less of the steady composure that he did have, he would have snorted at her comment. They both knew miles meant nothing to her. Still, he let it go. "Oh, well, when you put it that way..." Hale opened her backpack and found what he was looking for in seconds. He opened the little book and eyed the details inside. "So, how was Moscow, Ms . . . McMurray. You don't look like a Sue."

She dismissed his last comment, but answered, "Moscow was cold."

Hale looked at the passport again. "And Rio?"

"Hot." Well, he thought, great answers Kat. Really showing off your vocabulary, right?

"And-" he continued, but was cut off as Kat stopped and started speaking. "I thought my dad and Uncle Eddie summoned you to Uruguay?"

"Paraguay," he was always correcting her when it came to those South American countries. "And it was more _invitation _than summons. I regretfully declined." Well, that last bit was a lie, Hale thought. He just wanted to be with Kat instead. "Besides, I really wanted to a Smash and Grab job in a mansion with half the former KGB," he said with a sigh. "Too bad I never got that invitation."

Kat turned and looked at him. "It was more like a _Gab _and Grab." Hale knew that both of them knew that wasn't the point. He would have wanted to be there even if it was just a Gab. Hale smiled, not putting much effort into the expression. "That's too bad. You know, I've been told that I can really wear a tuxedo," he said, fully aware that he knew Kat was there when he had been told. "It was an easy job, Hale." Oh, sure, he thought as she laughed. "Totally easy. You would have been bored."

"Yeah," he said, his voice coated in sarcasm. "Because _easy _and _boring _are two words I frequently associate with the KGB."

"I was fine, Hale." She reached for him. "I'm serious. It was a one-person job. If I'd needed help I would have called, but-" Hale was annoyed. He was hearing the same spiel he had heard countless times, yet again.

"I guess you just didn't need the help." He interrupted.

"The family is in Uruguay."

Again, he corrected her. "Paraguay."

Kat raised her voice, "The family is in _Paraguay_," but then quietened down again, "I thought you were with the family." Hale was no doubt skeptical of this. She just wanted to do it on her own.

Hale took a step toward her and tucked the passport into her breast pocket. "I'd hate to see you loss this," he said, then turned walked outside. He knew Kat was following after him, and turned around toward her as he was walking. "So-a Cézanne, huh?"

He watched as she held two fingers close together. "Just a little one ... Weatherby?" Hale couldn't help but laugh at her attempt to discover what his two first names were. A black car arrived; Marcus was here. As Kat hurried to catch up, she guessed again, "Wendell?" and stood between Hale and the car. W. W. Hale realised how close they were to each other and moved forward. Kat seemed to have noticed as well, because she was tilting her head toward his. Hale's heart started to thud rather loudly in his chest. He wondered if the entire car park could hear it. He inched closer still, only to be interrupted by Marcus.

"Excuse me, " he said to Kat. "Miss, excuse me."

Kat stayed next to Hale for a moment longer, then hastily stepped backwards so Marcus could open the door of the car. Hale missed how close she was the moment she left. Damn, he thought, this girl's turning me into a sap.

"You missed me, didn't you, Marcus?" Kat asked.

"Indeed," He replied. And then, with a tip of his hat, "Welcome home, miss." he said.

Hale realised he hadn't said that to Kat yet. How rude he was. "Yeah, Kat," Hale said. "Welcome home."

As they moved toward the car, Hale didn't notice the change in temperature himself, but rather saw Kat's face relax slightly. Must be warm inside. She hated the cold. Hale's thoughts were interrupted as a gut-wrenching scream tore at his ears. Great, he thought. Thanks, Gabs.

"Katarina?" someone said. It was barely audible over the ringing in Hale's ears, but he still heard it. He looked at Kat, and saw she did as well. The little cogs in her brain were rotating as she looked around for the person who spoke.

"Katarina?" There is was again. An old woman was walking toward Kat. Hale thought she looked like a walking cliché. White hair, kind eyes, a tweed coat, and a hand-knitted scarf. Harmless. There was a man at her side. Young; maybe in his early to late twenties.

"Are you _the_ Katarina Brishop?" the old woman asked, her eyes growing large.

"Are you the girl who robbed the Henley?"

**AN: So there it is! RnR! I've already started the next chapter and will have it up in the next couple of days :)**


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